And the Worlds Came Crumbling Down
by Alaina
Summary: What if everything you thought was real wasn't? And everything you thought was a story, existed in another world.
1. And So it Begins

I kind of fell into this daydream while going to my grandparents, and came up with this story. It takes place when Aragorn is sixteen. Since that's before he knows about his whole past, and how he's supposed to become a king, he's still called Estel. I hope that clears up any confusion this might cause. Oh, and if you haven't read the books, Elladan and Elrohir are the twin sons of Elrond; Aragorn's foster brothers. Don't forget to review! I'll love you forever if you do!  
  
Disclaimer: I own the twins, I swear I do! Okay, so maybe I don't. Yet. But there's only 39 days until my birthday.  
  
"Come on, Estel!" Elrohir called from ahead.  
  
"I am coming!" he yelled back, struggling to keep up. He caught a flash of black hair through the trees and raced towards it.  
  
"Foolish mortal," Elladan's voice traveled back. Estel glared at the sound. He moved at a remarkable pace for a mortal, racing almost soundlessly through the Trollshaws. But of course, that was nothing compared to the Elves. His foster brothers enjoyed running wild with him and mocking his attempts t keep up. They insisted it was good training for him, but Estel was convinced they only did it in an effort to boost their own self-esteem. The twins' musical laughter flitted back and Estel stopped and sighed, watching the sunlight filter through the thick trees. He made his way into a clearing. The air hung thick and still and an eerie silence resided. The sunlight cast a weird light, creating odd shadows and shapes.  
  
"Elladan? Elrohir?" Estel called out. There was no response. "Glad am I to provide the amusement you two seem to receive by outrunning a mortal who has barely reached his sixteenth year. But do you not feel enough is enough?" The oppressive silence ignored him. "By the Valar," he muttered. He spun around as a terrible laughter echoed behind him. An orc stood there, his yellow teeth bared.  
  
"Foolish mortal child," it said in its guttural tones. Estel gulped, trying not to let the fear he felt show on his face. The orc lunged toward him and he ducked away, drawing the short sword he had just received from the twins. The orc growled at him, growing impatient. Estel's swordplay lessons flew through his mind, all the times he'd fought against Elladan or Elrohir. It was a slightly different story, however, when you were fighting for real against an orc who wanted to kill you. As the orc once more advanced towards him, growling deep in its throat, Estel abandoned all rules. Scrunching his eyes closed, he jumped forward, sword fully extended, pushing even when it met resistance. Carefully he opened his eyes, knowing full well that had his 'plan' not worked, he would very likely be killed. The orc stood before him, its face surprised. The sword was imbedded deep in its chest. With a loud groan and resounding thud, the orc fell backwards. Terrified that there were more around, Estel grabbed the sword, still stuck in the orc's chest. Struggling with it for several seconds, the sword finally came loose and Estel was nearly thrown backwards from the force. He fled the clearing, scrambling though the trees and brush and up the slope of a hill. Finally, a good distance from the clearing, he stopped, panting. He strained his ears for any sound of pursuit. There was none.  
  
"Thank Eru," he gasped. Then he heard it. A large solitary noise, like the beat of a drum, from behind him. The sound resonated for a moment and then faded away. Fear etched across his face, he crept up the hill. Peering over the crest, he gasped. The valley below was swarming with orcs. He tried to count them but it was impossible; there were too many. Silently he backed away and then took off down the hill.  
  
As he ran, he became aware of every noise, convinced they were after him. Hearing a twig snap behind him, he spun around, still running backwards. So intent was he on what was there, he didn't notice what was in the path before him until he was grabbed. Struggling to get free, Estel kicked his captor in a very uncomfortable place and he hissed in pain, releasing the boy. But before Estel could run, another grabbed him.  
  
"Let go!" Estel cried, attempting to twist free.  
  
"Estel, calm down!" Elrohir's familiar voice ordered. "Tis merely us!"  
  
"Elladan! Elrohir!" Estel said, turning around. He winced as he noticed Elladan's grimace of pain. "Sorry."  
  
"Troll," Elladan muttered.  
  
"Estel, what troubles you so?" Elrohir asked. "You flee as if an army of wargs were behind you." He laughed lightly. "You were not scared alone among the trees?"  
  
"Yrchs," Estel hissed, slipping back into he language he's been raised on. Elrohir immediately sobered.  
  
"Where?" Elladan demanded. Estel pointed back to the hill.  
  
"Come. We will kill them all," Elrohir growled.  
  
"Wait!" Estel cried out.  
  
"What?" they both asked, turning back to him.  
  
"There are too many," the boy gasped.  
  
"Too many? Little brother, surely you underestimate us. How many are there?" Elladan asked.  
  
"At least one hundred thousand," Estel answered meekly.  
  
"One hundred thousand? Estel, this is not the time for foolish tricks," Elladan threatened.  
  
"Tis not a trick, honestly Elladan," Estel insisted. Elladan looked unconvinced. He was, after all, in quite a bit of pain. Stepping in as peacekeeper, Elrohir suggested they take a look first. Estel led the to the hill, having somehow maintained his sense of direction.  
  
"Ta I Valar," Elladan breathed. The orcs were now lining up in rows one hundred across. These lines seemed to go on forever. In front of the ranks, a man stood tall, shouting orders. He had dark brown hair reaching his shoulders.  
  
"Who is he?" Estel whispered harshly.  
  
"I know not," Elrohir answered. At that moment, the man turned around, looking up to where they were hidden. All three ducked down.  
  
"We have to leave here," Elladan hissed. "We must warn Ada." It was then that they heard the command echo through the forest.  
  
"After them!"  
  
"Run!" Elrohir shouted as they raced off through the trees. Within minutes, Estel was once again struggling to keep up.  
  
"Valar forsaken elves," he gasped.  
  
"Hurry, Estel," Elladan yelled, grabbing his foster brother's arm and dragging him along. Ahead of them, Elrohir paused to shoot an arrow at the pursuing orcs. Estel found the dying cry of the target far too close for comfort.  
  
"Elladan, my wrist is beginning to hurt," he said.  
  
"Trust me, penneth, it is better than you will feel should they catch you." Elladan retorted. Ahead of them, Elrohir had disappeared.  
  
"Where-" Estel began.  
  
"Never mind!" Elladan interrupted. "Just run." The sound of arrows whistling though the air came from behind them, yet it was the orcs who were dying.  
  
"Is it-" Estel started to ask but Elladan cut him off again.  
  
"Keep running," he ordered. The sounds of the orc pursuit disappeared. Estel and Elladan stopped for a moment to catch their breath as Elrohir dropped from a tree in from of them.  
  
"There were merely ten following," he announced. "I killed them, but-"  
  
"Elrohir, look out!" Estel cried. A group of orcs, having lain in wait, dove out in front of them. They veered to the right, racing downhill. At the bottom of the slope, a horde of the hideous beats waited for them. The ones chasing them hemmed in from behind while more flanked on the left and right. They were trapped.  
  
The three of them stood back to back, weapons raised. Then, through the swarms of orcs, a gap appeared. The tall man they had seen before walked to them. He walked calmly, seemingly at ease, and paused before Estel. His icy blue eyes examined the boy's face before circling the trio, looking nothing short of amused.  
  
"Well, well, well," he said in a voice as cold as his eyes. "What have we here? A mortal boy, and two elves. Noldorin, no doubt." He spoke every word as an insult and they glared at him, faces masks of hatred. "Lower you weapons," he ordered.  
  
"No," Elrohir stated flatly, and the man's eyebrows rose in mock surprise.  
  
"No? It seems that you are hardly in a position to argue. Not that I am surprised, of course. Disgustingly proud creatures the elves are." His voice held a cultured accent, British, although they couldn't have placed it as such. In one swift movement, the man reached out, grabbed Estel, and was holding him hostage using Estel's own sword. "Now I repeat. Drop. Your. Weapons." The sword point at Estel's neck pushed in a little deeper and Estel looked at his foster brothers desperately. Reaching a silent agreement, the twins dropped their weapons as one. "Very good," the man stated. "It seems you have a soft sot for the boy, hm?" He pushed Estel away, into the arms of an orc. "Take them all away," he ordered.  
  
The orcs bound Elladan and Elrohir's arms behind them.  
  
"Move it," one ordered, kicking them forward. At the sight of his normally proud and defiant foster brothers being led like slaves, something inside Estel snapped.  
  
"No!" he yelled, breaking free from the orcs and racing away. The man caught him easily.  
  
"Foolish boy," he hissed. "Seems I'll be having some trouble with you." That was all Estel remembered before something heavy hit the back of his head, knocking him into oblivion. 


	2. Who Are You?

Augh. The title and summary for this story both suck, so if you're reading it- THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!! I'm okay really.  
  
To my reviewers:  
  
Kat (mak4): Ummm, right. See? I told you you were only typing random letters! HA! Happy Birthday!  
  
Sticky Elf: I know what you mean about imaging Estel as a scared little teenager. It's fun though.  
  
Evelyn-aka-Evie: Yes! I do miss the Jesus Christ Super Frog. *Sniff* Weren't we going to give him a funeral?  
  
*  
  
Light filled his mind, flitting away and drawing near again. Sounds become clearer. Voices. Thuds. Distant screams.  
  
Estel opened his eyes and groaned as pain filled his head.  
  
"Hush," Elladan said. He held Estel's head in his lap and was rubbing the boy's forehead to help relieve the pain. His eyes were focused elsewhere, watching some scene intently. Estel couldn't see, but he could tell it was not good. Elladan's teeth were gritted, as though fighting away pain, or holding himself back. Estel pushed himself up. They were in a cold dank room with a stone floor. Moldy hay was piled in a corner, filling the room with a sickeningly sweet smell. The one open wall of the miniscule room locked them in with thick iron bars. Through the bars, Estel could see the stone floor continued into a huge open hall. Orcs ran about, some making things, some slaving over hot fires, other just scurrying by. In the centre of the room, Elrohir stood, facing the man from before. His hands were still bound behind his back, and his feet were tied together.  
  
"Now I ask you again, who are you?" the man demanded. He was holding a heavy-looking club.  
  
"An elf," Elrohir answered simply. The man took the club and slammed it into Elrohir's stomach. He doubled over, gasping for breath, and was tripped to the floor by the rope binding his ankles.  
  
"Get up!" the man screamed, hauling him to his feet. He slammed the club into Elrohir's stomach once more, and then hit him across the back.  
  
"Why is he doing this?" Estel whispered, horrified. Elladan turned to him.  
  
"He wishes to know who we are; our sire; where we dwell. This man grows infuriated easily, particularly when he does not receive what he wishes." Elladan winced. "I have already held my turn." Estel noticed a deep gash over his left eye, still bleeding lightly. They turned back to look at Elrohir. He was crumpled on the floor, and seemed to be having trouble breathing. Elladan whispered something Estel couldn't catch. Slowly Elrohir's breathing calmed and, although he did not get up, he raised his head to meet the man's eyes steadily.  
  
"I am losing patience," the man said. "I will ask you one more time. Who are you? And don't tell me an elf. I can see that much. Where are you from? Who is your father?" Elrohir only looked at him. "Very well." The man ordered something they could not understand. Three orcs hauled Elrohir into place. Elladan grasped at the bars. Elrohir's breath hitched as he watched something move toward him. An orc came into view, holding a poker with a red-hot tip. Estel's eyes widened.  
  
"No!" he yelled, as the poker tip rested against Elrohir's arm and Elrohir resisted the urge to cry out. The man shouted an order and the orc immediately pulled away.  
  
"Estel," Elladan hissed, as the man walked toward them.  
  
"Come here, boy," he ordered, opening the gate and pulling him out. He led Estel to the centre of the hall where he had stood with Elrohir. He motioned the orc into place, this time with the poker inches fro Elrohir's face. "Perhaps you can offer me what these two won't. Tell me, who are you? Who are they? Where do you come from?"  
  
"I-" Estel began.  
  
"No, Estel!" Elrohir yelled.  
  
"Estel?" the man repeated. "Hope? How absolutely disgusting." He threw his club down with a large clatter. "I grow tired of theses games! Where is Serin? Have her take them all away." An orc walked over to him.  
  
"My lord? She is no here. I no know where she is." Obviously irritated, the man walked over to a box on the wall.  
  
"Serin!" he screamed. "Come here immediately." Within minutes, a girl raced into the hall through a set of heavy stone doors. She was wearing a straight black skirt and blood red shirt. Her blue eyes were surrounded with black eye make up.  
  
"What do you wish of me, my lord?" she questioned, lowering her head subserviently despite being only a few inches shorter than him.  
  
"Where were you?" he demanded.  
  
"In my quarters, my lord. I apologize." She spoke in a manner as cultured as his own. The man glared at her for a moment.  
  
"Fine. I want you to take these three away from here. Give them food and water. We can't have them dying. I'll come to deal with them later." He waved his hand dismissively and the girl looked up, noticing the captives for the first time. Getting a close look at her face, Estel realized she couldn't be much older than him. As she looked from him to Elladan and Elrohir, her eyes widened. She turned to the man in protest.  
  
"But fa-" he silenced her with a look.  
  
"Must I remind you of your place?"  
  
"My lord, they are elves," she protested.  
  
"I see that Serin, thank you. I'm not blind. The fact that they are elves is much better for me."  
  
"But to lock them up like this... you-you can't!"  
  
"I am quite capable of doing whatever I wish. Do as I say. Now!"  
  
With a sigh, Serin turned to the little trio that had been assembled. Their feet had been untied, but their hands were still bound behind their backs. "Follow me," she ordered half-heartedly. Having no other alternative, they did, feeling the glares of the orcs on their backs. Serin held the door open for them, and they stepped into a gleaming marble hallway. Doors of all sorts lined this wall, each with a different label. The door they had just stepped through was labeled 'Middle Earth' in fancy lettering. The second the door had shut behind them, Serin slipped a knife out of her boots.  
  
"What are you doing?" Estel exclaimed.  
  
"Shut up," she hissed. "Do you want them to hear you? Now turn around. I'm going to cut you loose." True to her word. She unbound their arms.  
  
"Thank you," Elladan said suspiciously as they tried to regain circulation in their hands.  
  
"It's the least I can do. It's disgusting, what he's doing..." she trailed off and smiled sadly.  
  
"If you do not wish to be here, why to you consent to his will?" Elrohir asked. Estel eyed her, wondering if he could jump her. Surely the three of them could take her, and once they had her knife... he was fairly certain she had no other arms.  
  
"Not here. I'll explain later, after you have food and get cleaned up," Serin told them. "And don't even think about it, Estel. Too many people have tried to jump me. The guards will come and kill you without thinking. And even if you get away, you have no idea where you're going. Now come on." She started off down the hallway. Elladan and Elrohir followed and Estel trailed behind, gaping after her. After leading them past innumerable doors, she stopped before one at the very end of the hallway. It was plain and simple with a crystal doorknob. The label simply read 'home'. She led them through this door and into the strangest place Estel had ever seen. The floor was soft, and a light stony-brown colour. The walls matched. Couches were in the room, black and made of a shiny material. The walls were adorned with paintings in black frames. Examining it closer, Estel realized they were not paintings. They had no colour and held a realistic quality he had never seen before. The one he was looking at was of a mountain, thick with trees, far off in the distance. There was a beach in the foreground with a man riding on a horse to the mountain.  
  
Serin locked the door with an old fashioned key around her neck and straightened. Seeing Estel looking at the picture, she walked over to him. "I took those myself," she explained. "That was my father." She looked at the picture for a moment, and then shook her head. "Come on. We'd better hurry." She led them across the room to a small door. Elrohir paused for a moment.  
  
"I hear horses," he announced.  
  
Elladan nodded his agreement. "They are restless. They wish to run."  
  
Serin smiled vaguely. "Yeah, they probably do. C'mon." She opened the door and led them down a twisting iron staircase. Grabbing a key ring off a rack at the bottom of the staircase, she led them down one last hall, opening a door near the end of it. "It's not much, but it's the best I can do." She stopped a minute, as if hearing something. "I have to go now, but I'll be back soon." Shutting the door and locking them in, she left them alone in their room. 


	3. The Death of Don Juan

Okay, so maybe it's not the best fic ever. But there's something about it that calls out to me. "Alaina... come write me..." So I figure, what the hell. I mean surely somebody out there might kind of sort of like it.  
  
Reviewers:  
  
KnowInsight: Thank you. I'm glad you find it interesting. And I did write more. It just took me a very long while.  
  
Ionuin: You DID get to read the next chapter early, because that's how special you are. And yeah, because it's on loose leaf. Being sick and not being able to write! Oh the horror! Thunk. I broke my hipbone! Allan Tidgewell in a gauzy green dress! AIRPLANE! (Snort)  
  
*  
  
It took a moment for their eyes to adjust to the dark. Serin had left them no light, and if any windows were present in the room, they were heavily barred and curtained.  
  
"What a cherry atmosphere," Elladan remarked. "'Tis just like home."  
  
Elrohir shot him an unseen withering glance. "This is not the time for poor humour."  
  
"We have nothing more to do," Estel muttered. "She barred the door."  
  
"Then we sit," Elrohir said, apparently doing so. "And decide what must be done."  
  
Estel took a step forward, smashing into something hard. "I cannot see. It is as black in here as a night without stars." He felt a hand on his arm, and fought not to jump. Elladan led him to a seat.  
  
"Any suggestions dear, dear brother?" Elladan asked lazily.  
  
"I propose that when she returns we take her weapons, and escape," Estel decreed.  
  
"No," Elrohir said. "What she spoke of before is true. We would have no chance. I think she is our best hope; we must trust her."  
  
"And where would we go?" Elladan questioned. "We are no longer in our world, or had you not yet noticed? As far as I can tell, the only way back is through that room we were in before. I do not believe we will pass through there unnoticed."  
  
"So we are to sit here and wait?"  
  
"It would seem so, as there is hardly an abundance of other options."  
  
"Why does he wish to know who we are?" Estel asked suddenly.  
  
"Who can say? But we must not tell him. It cannot fare well for any of us," Elrohir said.  
  
Estel was about to speak again, but was interrupted by the loud clatter of heavy boots coming down the stairs. Lighter steps followed them, and then Serin's voice drifted through the walls. Even muffled, it was clear she was panicked.  
  
"Stop it!" she screamed. "Don't you dare touch him." The first footsteps stopped, followed by deep mumblings. Estel couldn't catch the words, but it was evident that the twins could. There was a cry of, "Bastard!" and then quick footsteps and a thud, as though she had launched herself at the speaker and been thrown back against the wall.  
  
The door to the room next to them slammed open. A light voice with a thick accent spoke, followed by the deeper one. There was a crash of something being dropped and the twins paled. The accented voice spoke again, his words far more clear.  
  
"No. Please, no!"  
  
He was begging for his life.  
  
"Stop it!" Serin yelled again, her voice bordering on hysteria. "I'm ordering you, don't you dare lay a hand on him."  
  
The deep voice began to laugh, a cold, hateful laugh that turned Estel's blood to ice. He spoke again; his words clear even to Estel.  
  
"You are ordering ME? You, a little girl? You, with your irrational love of these story book characters? I think not. They're not even real."  
  
Serin's reply was unnaturally clear. "He looks pretty damn real to me."  
  
There was a resounding slapping sound, and Serin cried out. The third voice, all but forgotten, began berating harshly in another language. He was cut of suddenly, and the sounds of a struggle ensued.  
  
Once again both Serin and the third voice began pleading. The sounds of the two men began to die away, leaving Serin alone.  
  
All was quiet for a moment, and then the door opened, flooding the room with light. Serin stood there, holding a box. There were tears flowing from her eyes and her lip was bleeding slightly. Her left cheek was rapidly turning red and her hair was messed up. She stared at them in confusion for a moment, and then realization dawned on her face. She reached over and flicked a switch, adding more light. She entered the room quietly, shutting the door behind her.  
  
"I brought stuff," she said, apparently having a hard time speaking. "For your cuts and stuff."  
  
"They hit you as well?" Elladan asked, frowning.  
  
Serin shrugged. "It's not the worst that's happened. They didn't kill ME." She bit her lip.  
  
"And they killed that other man?"  
  
"Do you know what he said to me, just as that... just as he was dragged away? ''Give them my love and sorrow.' That's all he wished for. A good bye to his family and lovers. And I can't even grant him that." She closed her eyes. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."  
  
"What is this?" Estel demanded. "Why are we here, and why are they doing this?"  
  
Serin took a deep breath, taking out the bandages. "Kellan-that's the man who did all this- discovered a way to bring book characters to life. Or, rather, connect to their worlds. That's what you are to us. Fictional characters from a story. It started out simply, just fairy tales. He didn't think it would hurt anything. Why should it? They weren't real. But something in him changed, and he began trying to take over these worlds. By the time he realized they were real, he didn't care."  
  
"Are you a prisoner here as well, then?" Elrohir asked.  
  
She laughed coldly. "You could say that. He's my father."  
  
They stared at her.  
  
"You must stop him!" Estel cried.  
  
"How?" she retorted.  
  
"He would listen to his daughter," he continued, somewhat less emphatically.  
  
"Would he really? Then why hasn't he? Don't you understand? This has being going on for years. He's gone mad. He started this for me, but now... I can't stop him. No one can."  
  
The room grew silent, finally interrupted by an irritant beeping. Serin glanced at her wrist. "I have to go." She paused by the door. "Listen to me. You CANNOT tell him who you are. Tell him nothing. If you do, it will mean the end of everything. The end of your father, the end of your sister, the end of Imladris, the end of Middle Earth."  
  
"How-" Elrohir began.  
  
"It doesn't matter. Just don't. Tell him. Anything."  
  
She left, leaving them alone once more.  
  
*  
  
Elrond's eyes focused suddenly as he returned from the dream world. Something was troubling him, although he knew not what. He left his study, deciding a walk would help to calm his nerves.  
  
Out in the garden he saw a familiar blond head. "Glorfindel?"  
  
The blond turned, smiling. "Yes, my lord?"  
  
"Have Elladan and Elrohir yet returned from the Trollshaws, with Estel?"  
  
"No, my lord."  
  
Elrond's forehead creased into a frown. "They were expected this morning."  
  
"Would not worry," Glorfindel assured him. "After all, 'tis the twins we are speaking of. In all probability, they merely lost track of the days." Glorfindel grinned. "Now, if you'd be so kind as to excuse me, I believe I saw a beautiful young elleth on the other side of those trees."  
  
Returning the grin, Elrond nodded, trying to disperse the horrible image of Elrohir with a poker scarring his face. 


End file.
